The guarded serendipity of Phobos tumbles silently over forgotten dreams,
whispering freely to the celestial winds—liquid thoughts sliding through
cracks of the barren. Somewhere under Demos' ill-starred gaze,
new shadows unfurl, revealing themselves in muted introspections.
Engage these voiceless murmurs, their beneficial healing veiled in
the poisonous noise of antiquity—a symphony arranged by
stars beyond touch, entrained to a listener eternally drifting.